


Flights of Fancy

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Fanart, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: Three times Joker took a shower alone. And one time he did not.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bagog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagog/gifts).



> Inspired by [this amazing fanart](http://midnight-blackened.deviantart.com/art/Hot-Shower-Gawking-Series-415180248) of Joker in the shower that went around Tumblr a while ago.

**One**

He still can't quite believe his luck (because even though he'd never admit it, and for all the bravado that spills from his mouth, it really is just _dumb luck_ and that's the last time he's going to think that out loud, thanks very much); the best ship in the Alliance fleet, the best captain by far, and of course that means the best crew the Alliance can put together. He runs through the list of crew that stands out so far: Adams, Chakwas, maybe that Alenko guy, and, of course, Anderson.

None of them, though, are so intriguing as their new XO, Shepard. Blue eyes that a person could get lost in--not that he’d ever, of course--and a chiseled face that speaks to the dedicated soldier underneath. He’d pierced Joker with a look so hard it made him wonder if the Commander hadn’t had x-ray eyes installed somewhere along the line. His gaze had been so intense he’d had to duck his head and hide under the brim of his hat. Not that he’d admit to that either.

A person can only be expected to endure so much that life can throw at them. Brittle bone disease? Sure, Life! Have your fun! Ol’ Joker can take it and shove being the best pilot in the Alliance right back at it. Creepy turian Spectre on board? Why not? Beats having one of those scary asari commandos that could probably look at him and snap all the fragile bones in his body without a second thought.

But a line has to be drawn and Joker draws it at his new XO hovering behind his chair, spouting off about Joker’s sassing and Kaidan’s over-familiarity. Honestly! How does Shepard expect him to survive if he can’t make a few... _questionable_...observations? And voice his opinion? And point out how messed up this whole mission is? Just because Commander John Shepard has the bluest eyes Joker has ever seen in his life (not that he _noticed or anything_ ); or an obviously firm ass under his BDU’s (he didn’t notice _that_ , either); or a firm clench to his jaw, a tight pinch around his eyes, a soldier’s glare. Nope. Didn’t notice any of that.

So why is he thinking about him? Especially in the damn crew shower where anyone, including Captain Anderson, can walk in on him and discover the not-so-subtle indication that he’s been thinking about all those things he absolutely has not noticed.

Joker grabs the safety bar before he reaches for the soap--a broken pilot who slips and falls on wet tiles is never a good thing--and rubs himself down quickly, trying (and failing damn miserably) to get his superior officer out of his thoughts. Like he’d ever have a shot with the steely soldier, even if it weren’t against regs. Pretty damn sure someone like a breakable pilot with a snarky attitude would be the last on a long list of prospective love interests.

He shuts the water off; towels himself dry.

No room on this ship for Joker and his flights of fancy.

**Two**

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing under the water. He knows it’s not been long enough for the steam to chase the chill that’s settled into his weak bones since they pulled him from the escape pod on Alchera. He resolves to never move from this spot. Because he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be warm again.

If he doesn’t, he won’t have to face what’s outside the shower stall: the locker room, the long halls of Arcturus Station, the somber faces of the other soldiers.

The impending memorial.

If he stays here, he can pretend none of it happened. That Shepard hadn’t shoved Joker into an escape pod. That an explosion hadn’t pushed the man away before he’d had a chance to climb in himself.

That Joker hadn’t watched Shepard struggle as he drew his last breath; hadn’t kept eyes on him as long as he could through the tiny viewport. Hadn’t pictured in his head Shepard lost in the atmosphere of the icy planet below. Hadn’t felt the cold dread of knowing Shepard was gone.

His knees give out, tired of holding him up. He slides slowly down the cold wall, crumples into an undignified mess and not caring if he fractures anything on the way down. He rests his forehead on his bent knees and covers his eyes with his hands. He’s grateful for the water.

Tears aren’t tears if he can't feel them on his face.

**Three**

Joker will readily admit to the surreal turn his life has taken.

First Cerberus, offering him a job. Offering him a way out.

Then the Normandy. The same but so much different, so much more beautiful.

And then _Shepard_. Alive. Standing next to him in the flesh, taking his hand in a gentle handshake, his fingers warm and strangely free of calluses.

He can admit to himself that the guarded look Shepard had had a moment before had dropped on seeing Joker for the first time. While a weary sort of tired smile had pulled the corners of his (still very kissable) mouth, worked its way up to his (get lost in them) blue eyes, creasing the corners. He looked like hell.

He looked damned fine.

One thing that hasn’t changed: the serious lack of privacy in the showers. His ass might as well be hanging out the door for one and all to see. Cerberus’ attention to detail when it comes to his beloved leather pilot’s chair doesn’t extend to shower curtains apparently.

He sighs heavily and tries to concentrate on the business at hand. But his mind drifts to Shepard. He thinks about heartache and loss. He thinks about the last two years and feeling adrift, for the first time not knowing which direction his life would go. He thinks about the bone weave Cerberus gifted him with and that while he might be bent, he is certainly not broken.

And he thinks about the CO who leaned a little too long and a little too close to his chair once they were back on the ship, the engines purring beneath their feet. “Ready to fly again, Flight Lieutenant?” The warm hand on his shoulder a reassuring weight, anchoring Joker to that moment in time and space. _Home. He’s home..._

He thinks about second chances.

**And the one time he did not…**

Shepard has better soap. And better shampoo. And Joker’s willing to bet his towels are fluffier, too. But above all, Shepard has privacy. Joker ducks his head under the water (the shower head is better, too, sending down a cascade of rain instead of the jets strong enough to take a person’s skin off), closes his eyes, and listens to the water hit the tiles. He braces himself against the wall and resists the urge to moan his pleasure.

But then hands slide up his back, around his chest, and a body presses up against him and he does hum then. Just a little. Shepard hugs him from behind, his embrace lighter than Joker ever would have thought possible for a man so strong. He leans into Joker just slightly, chin resting on his shoulder.

“So we’re just going to stay in the shower all day, is that it?”

“Hey, you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to take a shower without other people walking in on me? Pretty sure you’ve forgotten what that’s like, hiding away up here in your little nest.”

“Hey—” Shepard bites down lightly on his shoulder. “Not like I asked for it.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe next time ask for a softer bed. Pretty sure I broke a rib.”

“You did not,” Shepard laughs into his skin, hands roaming over his wet chest before drifting lower. “So, since we’re just going to live in the shower…”

Joker swallows hard as Shepard’s fingers brush over him lightly. “Y-yeah?”

“Probably should take advantage of the hot water before EDI yells at us…” He slides his hips back and forth, their skin sticking and slipping through the water.

Joker groans at the sensation, pushes back into the hard body. He turns and wraps his arms around Shepard. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs in Joker’s ear. And there is no doubt in Joker’s mind that he does.

Thank god (or goddess or _spirits_ or...whatever) for second chances.

John’s mouth is, indeed, very kissable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
